


What's A 90's Kid?

by GashouseGables



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accountant!derek, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Angst With A Silver Lining, M/M, Other, Stiles has a promising career in tech security, and scott is there to be cute, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22764082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GashouseGables/pseuds/GashouseGables
Summary: Derek thought his life was settling into place; he was the deputy head of accounting for Triskelion, proving himself as one of the youngest to ever reach the title. He was six-months into a relationship with a great guy.So when Derek realises that ‘90’s kid’ did not mean, ‘born in 1990’ but instead ‘born in 1995’ he seriously considers the difference between a five-year ago gap, and a ten-year one.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 24
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles was severely hungover and trying not to doze off in class when his phone buzzed. It woke him instantly, with hope that it would be his beau.

_Hope you’re not busy. Take you to Nero’s tonight?_

Stiles didn’t even fight the way his insides melted. His boyfriend wanted to take him to one of those fancy, violin-in-the-background restaurants right out of a romantic movie. Dating older men was just all perks, so far as he was concerned.

_SO not busy! Yes please!_

Stiles hummed a little as he tucked his phone away. The rest of the class was basic and boring, and he was more than happy to meet up with his best friend in the computer arts block. Scott was the chapter treasurer and currently getting a degree in graphic design that he hoped would lead to a prolific tattoo artist career. Stiles spotted Scott sitting next to a free rollie chair, and quickly commandeered it for himself.

“My life is amazing.” Stiles said as soon as he sat down.

“Are you still drunk from last night?” Scott asks, sounding amused. He also looked a little worse for wear, but it didn’t damper his concern and goodly spirit.

“Man, probably, I should never go against Lydia in a drinking contest again.” Stiles groans. “Bio-med students must be immune to intoxication.” He mutters. Martin could also just be a freak; she certainly was when they were in high school together. His phone buzzes again, and he digs it out of his pocket eagerly.

_Can you meet me at my office at 6? I’ll drive us in the sex-mobile._

Stiles frowns a little. Derek’s office was smack-bang in the middle of the CBD, and it would take Stiles a half-hour to get there by bus. Usually they met at the coffee shop a ten-minute walk from campus. But that was quite a bit out of Derek’s way; so Stiles wasn’t about to complain.

_It’s a date._

“Dude, your guy?” Scott asks, eyebrows raised. He looked happy for him, which Stiles greatly appreciated. After that disturbing encounter with Matt in freshmen year, Scott was worried when Stiles told him about the amazing older man he met while giving up on a bar-crawl around five months ago.

“He’s taking me to dinner.” Stiles says with satisfaction. Scott gave him a sleepy smile. “How about you and Allison?” He asks, mostly because he feels he had to. Stiles loved the guy, but his ability to gush about his childhood sweetheart was supernatural. Supernaturally annoying, at times.

“Perfect, probably, I haven’t been able to Skype with her since Friday night.” Scott says, beginning to frown now. Stiles couldn’t imagine doing long-distance like they did; it would be rough.

“Well, it’s only Monday, man.” Stiles offers, and Scott shrugs, looking displeased but not overly so.

“Derek said we’re driving in his Chevy Camaro tonight.” Stiles adds, eyebrows waggling.

Scott groans, but breaks off with a light laugh. “You pretty much just told me you’re putting out tonight.” He pointed out, and mock-punched Stiles in the shoulder when he just shrugged.

Stiles spent the afternoon mildly bugging Scott and sending out a few applications to his security firms of choice. Scott announced he was done with his project just in time for them to head back to Lambda Pi Omicron house. Stiles had to beg Danny to dress him when they got back. He’d settled on a sweater stolen from Isaac and with his best pair of dark grey slacks.

He ended up taking the less-than-trustworthy bus to the other side of town, where the big, shiny Triskelion building mostly blended in with all the other skyscrapers. He got there at least ten minutes late, doing the white person half-jog across traffic while groaning at the time on his phone.

But when he got into the building, he didn’t see Derek anywhere. He pulled out his phone to shoot Derek a text.

_I’m running late! R U running later?_

Stiles took a seat on the leather couches in the lobby, and the security guard at the door must have at least vaguely remembered him from a few other times. Or perhaps Stiles actually fit into this kind of high-powered, corporate Forbes-500 vibe.

He did always make it a point not to dress too bro-ish around Derek, who always looked good. Derek wasn’t Stiles, after all, who kept a bleach-splotched shirt from making Lydia a blonde just for the sentimentality. Or splurged on the new college logo sweatsuit to send back to his dad.

His phone dinged, now that he had it off vibrate. _Absolutely. Coming down now._

Stiles grins and jumps to his feet when the elevator dings.

Sure enough, Derek comes striding out, holding his smart little briefcase and everything. Stiles loved the genuine, almost shy-looking grin Derek gives him as soon as he sees him. He forces himself not to bounce as Derek stops in front of him and presses a kiss onto his forehead. Even though he was barely an inch taller.

“Sorry I’m late.” He says. Stiles waves him off, not bothering to remind him that Stiles had also been late. He runs a hand down Derek’s navy-blue suit instead.

“You look good.” Stiles tells him appreciatively, and then tucks his arm around Derek’s. Smiling, Stiles gets the same compliment in return, and Derek leads him to the underground staff parking.

“I wanted you to meet me here, because I have something to show you.” Derek explains, and takes Stiles to the B-1 parking floor, instead of his usual B-3 or 4. Derek looks more and more excited as he takes Stiles down to … his Camaro. Which he presents with a nervous flourish.

Stiles grins at the sleek black car. “Hey sexy,” He leers, running a hand over the trunk.

Derek lets out an amused huff, “on the wall,” He says, pointing to the space above the parking spot.

‘ **Derek Hale  
Deputy Head of Accounting’**

“Promoted!” Stiles declares, grinning madly. Derek nods, and lets out a good-natured ‘oof’ as Stiles nearly tackles him to press a kiss onto his mouth. “Congratulations, baby!”

Stiles starts pressing kisses all over Derek’s face, loving the feeling of stubble under his lips, until, laughing, Derek ends up holding him at arm’s length.

“Thank you, but they’ll give away our table if we don’t get a move on.” Derek says gently, and lightly pushes Stiles towards the passenger side of his car.

The drive was pleasant; Stiles chatted about one of his online guys who was almost the sole reason behind his _paid_ internship at the one of the largest internet security companies in the area. Derek nodded and looked amused through the drive.

When they pulled up to the restaurant, Stiles hopped out of the car and didn’t gawk too much. But this was definitely one of the nicest places he’d ever stood in front of.

He told Derek as much, who smiles and leads him inside with a hand on his back.

“Reservation for two, Hale?” Derek asks the woman at the little podium, who smiles and nods pleasantly, leading them to a small table in the corner.

“Here we are!” The waitress beams as they seat themselves. “And may I say, congratulations on your promotion!” She chirps.

Derek looks a little embarrassed about it but ducks his head and nods once. “Um, thanks,” he mutters, before continuing in a louder voice, “we’ll have the wine now.” Stiles feels a fluttering somewhere in his torso, that Derek had specifically ordered a bottle of wine in advance. It was adorable, and super grown-up.

She hands them both food menus and strides off with her firmly-fixed smile.

It also makes Stiles realise that he had spent the whole car ride chattering like an idiot over some internship, when Derek had much bigger news to celebrate. “… So, you want to actually talk about your thing?” Stiles asks him, grinning a little ruefully.

Derek seems faintly amused though and gives a shrug. “Not much to talk about.” He says, which could probably be his slogan; Derek was not a man of many words. “I’m good at what I do, it’s just a plus that I’m the youngest to do it.” He adds, which tells Stiles that he was pretty damn proud of himself.

Stiles was pretty proud of him too. “I’m so happy for you, when did you find out?”

“Early yesterday.”

The wine comes and Stiles thanks the waiter that pours their glasses.

Stiles miraculously doesn’t slosh the wine as he raises a toast. “To your promotion!” he announces. Derek inclines his head and they clink.

Stiles hadn’t the tastebuds for wine, so he only takes a little sip before putting it down. He was much more invested in perving on his boyfriend. Derek had ditched his suit jacket over his chair and loosened his tie a little. Stiles observes the way Derek’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his cut collarbones stark against his skin ….

Derek was enjoying his glass, and Stiles’ roaming gaze, as he smirks when Stiles takes his time finally looking at his face.

“Stop staring,” Derek mutters into his glass, but he certainly doesn’t sound convincing.

Stiles tucks his hands under his chin and flutters his lashes innocently. “But the view is _so good_.” He simpered, biting back his own smile.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Stiles shrugs. “Thank you for celebrating with me.” He says. He was honestly touched; Derek must have booked this restaurant as soon as he’d been promoted, just with Stiles in mind.

“I didn’t really want to celebrate with anyone else.”

“ _Aw,_ happy I’m proud of you?” Stiles asks, teasing just a little bit.

“Delirious.” Derek replied, his tone dry, but there was no small amount of sincerity in his eyes. Stiles flushed because Derek was telling the truth. Stiles could barely think about the fact that Derek really liked him; he certainly couldn’t tease him about it.

Getting embarrassed himself, Stiles quickly took up his wine glass again, flicked it in his own re-toast, and took a large gulp. Derek chuckled at him.

The waiter came and asked for their appetizers, and Stiles assured Derek that the man could get whatever he wanted; it was on him, after all. Stiles also had Derek choose their food; definitely because Stiles didn’t recognize half the ingredients the dishes were peddling.

Derek ordered, and handed back the menus, before digging around in his jacket.

“I got you something,” Derek told him, reaching over and placing a small envelope in front of Stiles.

“Man, _no_ , you’re supposed to be getting something from me!” Stiles protested, flustered, but already extremely excited about the present. Derek just shrugged.

He tore open the packet, and revealed a key and a keycard on a chain. Stiles stares blankly at it, and then raises his eyes to stare at Derek.

“To get into my apartment, and the underground elevator in the building.” Derek explains, looking more and more uncomfortable by the moment.

“… You’re giving me a key to your place?” Stiles asks; he felt kind of full, like he had a wad of cotton instead of a heart. It wasn’t a bad feeling, by any means.

Derek looks a little like he was a prey animal caught in headlights, despite the fact that it was his present. “Trust me, it’ll be a gift to me, I like that I could see some things you left at my place …” Derek waves a hand vaguely, “maybe you can do some coding work there, it’s quiet ….” He added weakly.

Stiles isn’t paying enough attention to Derek to parse his growing nerves, though, he was too busy staring at the best gift ever, sitting right in the palm of his hand. “You want _all of this_ up in your space!” Stiles crowed, gesturing to his whole torso and instantly digging out his own keys. Stiles busied himself picking at the ring, to add Derek’s new set.

“Yeah.” Derek agrees softly, watching with fondness as Stiles’ works. He jangles the new additions to his keyring triumphantly, just in time for their first course to arrive.

They spend the rest of dinner talking about Derek’s promotion; who would work under him, what new hours he’d get …. Stiles attempted to start a game of footsies under the table, but was literally stamped down by Derek, who quietly promised to blow him in the car if he would just stay _still._

Derek seems all too easy with Stiles coming down his throat, just laughing as Stiles babbles to apologize for not warning him, tipsy and incoherent from the wine he managed to drown at dinner. But Stiles is willing to agree Derek was partly to blame – him and his amazing mouth. “Oh hey, I almost forgot, we’re having a house party this weekend.” Stiles says, still panting after his release.

Derek was fixing his mussed hair from Stile’s eagerly grabbing hands, and glances at him with amusement.

“You and Scott?” He asks. Stiles nods eagerly; the entire frat was getting involved, of course, but this would be the chance for Derek to meet them all. “I’ll let you know tomorrow, then.” Derek told him.

Grinning, Stiles leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

Derek had an excellent night with Stiles; the man had stayed over, and made a very big deal of seeing himself out with his new key. Derek didn’t really know why Stiles went by that name, Derek knew it was his nickname; it wasn’t very professional. But, some small part of him found it a little cute.

Erica held the elevator to their office for him. He nodded to her, and Boyd behind her. They’d been dating for the past six months, and Derek had yet to have a need to scold them for fucking in a supply closet. So, he wished them well.

“How’s lover-boy?” She asks coyly. “Did he like his present?” She asked. She found Stiles amusing; which didn’t bode well for him. They’d had a double date which could have been awkward; if both Erica and Stiles hadn’t ended up getting so drunk they both wanted to become blood brothers. It had lightened the mood that night considerably.

“Of course.” Derek inclined his head, but he didn’t really want to discuss it in an elevator, with other people listening. “Did you finish the run-down?” He asks Boyd.

“Already on your desk.” Boyd replies, with a tone that would remain devoid of emotion until at least noon, when his personality woke up.

Erica did not appreciate being ignored. “ _So_ , are we going to that house party?” She asks archly.

“You’re not invited.” Derek’s reply was immediate and finite.

“Am so.” Erica replied smartly, waving her glowing phone screen in his face. He doesn’t bother trying to read it. After a failed attempt at pricking their palms with plastic forks, Erica and Stiles had foregone the pact and simply added each other on every social media platform known to man. Derek did not understand the appeal; he had an email and a mobile number; there was no other form of written communication necessary. No doubt Stiles had invited her.

“I’m your boss and I’m saying you’re not going.” Derek told her, and not with some satisfaction. Boyd scoffed behind her, but doesn’t say anything.

Erica elbows the man anyway and pouts. “Party-pooper!” She doesn’t seem mortally wounded though, as she grins. “The poor boy just wants to show you off to all the other frat-bros ….” She simpers.

“Hilarious.” Derek told her with an eye-roll. “Remind me to pick up wine before the party.” He adds to Boyd, who politely refuses.

“Yeah, pinot will go down well with the campus.” Boyd tells him, and Erica giggles.

Derek refrains from slapping at least one of them upside the head. “Stop with the age cracks.” He cautions. “Five years isn’t that much.” He adds. But it’s close, after his humiliating fiasco with Kate … five years was just on the cusp of ‘much’. But it was sweet, funny Stiles and he was worth it.

But he had been worried that his status after his promotion would be undercut like this. He didn’t want to be the asshole that demanded his friends kowtow to him … but he wanted to be taken seriously. This was all ribbing they could do until they were away from the office.

But Erica and Boyd both look a little startled, not teasing at all. Derek doesn’t enjoy the tense look they share between them. “Um … ten years is a bit more, though.” Erica pointed out quietly. Boyd clears his throat, and Erica quickly grins. “But he’s great! He’s been good for you.” She adds quickly.

Derek felt his confused scowl settle into place. _Ten_ years? That wasn’t right. “What are you talking about?” He asked her bluntly.

“He’s … in college?” She prompted, looking almost hopeful that he would remember on his own. But Derek couldn’t exactly do that as he didn’t know in the first place. “He’s part of a fraternity?” She tried again, almost wincing.

“ _What_.” Derek wasn’t even asking a question, at this point.

Erica sighs. “Vice-President of Kappa Sigma Lambda. Says it right here.” She holds her phone a reasonable distance from Derek’s face, and he feels the pit in his stomach widen. It _was_ right there, on Stiles’ facebook account; how much classes were kicking Stiles’ ass, how he was so looking forward for summer break ….

Derek feels a little lost, for just a moment. Then he gets angry.

“He said he was born in 1990.” He spits, temper flaring. If this little shit was trying to take him for a ride ….

But Erica looks doubtful, waving her phone again. “He knows I follow him on everything ….” She says, though her tone is hesitant. It wasn’t as though Erica would ever pull the wool over Derek’s eyes, after all.

It makes Derek even angrier than before. “He said he was a 90’s kid!” He snapped. He wasn’t going to let go of his anger, it would morph too quickly into hurt.

This time, Boyd hisses, as though in pain. “Oh, _no_ , Derek, he meant ‘born in the 90’s’,” Boyd explained haltingly, “as in the entire decade ….” He added.

At their sympathetic looks, Derek feels his anger fade away. Now Derek feels supremely embarrassed. This was awful; all this time he’d been dating a _child_ , a 22-year-old college student. Honestly, he didn’t think Stiles had been lying to him, in hindsight. The man – _boy_ was painfully honest and got flustered very easily. Derek could usually sniff out a lie pretty quickly.

He pulls in a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. He had to accept this; just like his childhood therapist told him – this has occurred, and what was important was his next steps.

“Well … I’ll drop by at the end of the party.” Derek decided with a resolute nod. “When do college parties wind down?” He asks. Derek honestly had no social life back in college; scared and slightly traumatized; he’d thrown himself into his studies and came out stellar. God, what if this was his subconscious trying to get a re-do? Live his buried youth? Some sort of delayed adolescence? How _pathetic._

Erica looks surprised. “You’re still going?” She asks, looking hopeful. Of course, she did – she actually _wasn’t_ a year younger than Stiles. Stiles the child.

Derek inclines his head. “Of course; I’m not a complete ass,” he says, and Erica doesn’t even try to jokingly disagree, “kids these days may break up over texts, but I won’t.” He says sternly.

Boyd and Erica share yet _another_ look, this one full of worry, and it irks Derek to no end. “… You’re not going to try?” He asks.

“Try, _what_ , Boyd?” Derek questions him, one eyebrow hiked up. “What future is there with a kid?” He takes a moment so as not to snap again, and lets out a noisy sigh. “Look, I’m sure it’s no-one’s fault, I’ll buy him something nice.” He settles on. “What is it boys want? Dr. Dre headphones?” Derek scowls – his sister would know, Laura had two boys last he remembered.

“Derek,” Erica says, her tone cautious, “maybe you should talk this out, first.” She suggests, and nudges Boyd. “He’s over-thinking things again.” She said to the man in a very bad whisper.

“There’s nothing to discuss.” Derek said. There really wasn’t – he was not going to date a 22-year-old student, he just wasn’t. “And I am not over-thinking anything.” He adds. He wasn’t Kate; he refused to leave the same scars. Besides, Derek was sure he had been much more invested in this relationship than Stiles had been. Kids were just looking for casual, ‘chill’ friends-with-benefits thing. Maybe he saw Derek as some type of sugar daddy, or something.

“Except perhaps brainstorming ways to casually ask for my next date’s driver’s license.” He grouches. They step out of the elevator in a subdued manner; Derek snaps his attention to work. He also reminds Erica that he didn’t want to see her on her phone – this was his personal business. He wouldn’t have her meddling.

Derek’s work is steady today, which, unfortunately, gives him some time to think. He felt embarrassed, first and foremost. Stiles didn’t seem the scheming type; he was a little bit of a dweeb, who could cook surprisingly healthy egg whites.

This seemed to have culminated into a very large misunderstanding. One that reflected very poorly on Derek. If Laura still spoke to him; she would have loved to make a few cracks at his expense. But it’d been at least two years; now – the only Hale he was worried about was himself.

Stiles was more than a little tipsy tonight, but not as drunk as he’d usually be. Because Derek said he’d be coming around midnight to the party. Stiles was extremely excited; he even demanded Scott stay a little soberer to get the full, relatively unintoxicated effect of one Derek Hale.

He saw the sex-mobile park a little down the street, and grabbed at Scott with excitement. “He’s here!” Stiles declares, shoving his best friend towards the front door. “Scott, come on!” He managed to get them past most of the mass of bodies, before he dragged Scott to a halt at the porch. “No, wait here, I wanna kiss him!” Stiles declares, and laughing, Scott sags against the railing of the porch as Stiles races ahead.

Derek steps out of his car, looking ruffled but nonplussed as Stiles grabs him around the waist. “Is your party winding down?” Derek asks, turning his head towards the building as Stiles plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

He laughs at the idea of a LPO party winding down at midnight. “ _No_!” Stiles said, mock-disgusted as he grins. “We’ve got at _least_ four hours left on this thing! Come in, meet Scott!” He encouraged, pulling Derek’s arm towards the front door.

But Derek’s arm didn’t come with him, neither did the rest of him. “I don’t think I will.” Derek told him. Stiles whines, and tugs again. Derek had to meet Scott, at least! He looks over to where his said best friend was draining a red solo cup. But Derek called his name softly. “Look at me.” Derek said, and Stiles did. That was easy. “I got you something.” Derek pulled out a shiny wrapped present; it even had a bow.

Stiles lights up at the gift, and snatches it quickly. “A present! Thanks, babe!” Stiles declared, rubbing an excited thumb over the power-rangers cartoon-print. He flipped open the tiny card tied around the bow. “‘ _We had fun, good luck with your degree’_ ” Stiles read aloud. He frowned, the words sinking very slowly into his drunk brain. “… what’s this?” He asks quietly.

Derek shifts his weight from one foot to the another, clearing his throat carefully. “I don’t think this is going to work, Stiles.” The man says gently. “You’re simply too young.”

Stiles feels the words like a physical slap, and he gasps, cringingly loud. “But … that didn’t stop us before!” He argues, but it’s hard to do because his brain and heart both feel frozen. “I’m even older than when we started dating!” He protested, remembering vaguely an episode of Friends.

At that, Derek grimaces. “I … made a mistake.” He replied, his tone halting, like he was being delicate. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just very plain that we’re in different points in our lives.” Derek shook his head and looked … indulgent. “You should have your 20’s, Stiles. They matter.” He said, with more wisdom in his tone than Stiles cared to hear right now.

He throws up his arms, feeling his shock turn to anger. Because _this?_ Was plain condescending. “ _They matter?_ ” He repeats incredulously. “I know that! In fact, up until right now, I was pretty sure everything was coming up Stiles!” He continues, shoulders hunching as he feels his heartbeat, and it _hurts_. “You gave me a _key_ , man.” Stiles whispers, and he hates that his voice came out so broken.

Derek surveys him, like he was watching one of his stupid nature documentaries. He does duck his head. “… I’m going to need that back.” He adds quietly. “I’m sorry, Stiles, please enjoy your party.” Derek said mechanically.

“Fuck you.” Stiles spat back.

Drunk enough to feel his upset start choking him, Stiles throws the present on the ground, and runs back inside the house.

He feels stupid, as he hides behind a very confused Scott, and watches Derek get into his car and drive away.

“What?” Scott asks, trying to turn around and face Stiles but only ending up swinging them both in circles. “What happened?”

But Stiles just shook his head. The present was still on the sidewalk, along with the shattered pieces of his heart.

“Let’s get wasted.” Stiles mutters darkly.

Scott seemed willing to agree, but kept an eye on Stiles all through the night; he didn’t even let Stiles do that second keg-stand in a row. That didn’t stop him from drinking an awful lot though.

Much, much later that night; Stiles bullied Isaac, a curly-haired quiet pledge, into doing a butterscotch schnapps shot with him.

Then, he woke up on a leather couch with his head throbbing all the way to the bridge of his nose.

“Holy shit,” he croaked, blinking dry eyes and trying to focus his very fuzzy vision. His phone was in his hand, mercifully still on 30%, buzzing with a call from Scott. Whimpering a little, he rejects the call and focuses all his effort on trying to sit upright.

There’s a muffled sound of feet on carpet, and Derek is peering at him a few feet away. “Awake, want to throw up? Or water?” He offers calmly. Derek is still in his pajamas, and Stiles ignores his own belt buckle digging into his belly.

Stiles nods. “Both, please ….” He mutters, and then focuses on his relatively calm stomach. “Wait, just the water.” He amends. Derek hands him a glass. “What am I doing here?” He rasps.

At this, the older man looks almost amused, but mostly rueful. “You don’t remember …” he murmurs, before taking a seat next to him. “You came in and demanded the last months of your life back.” He said.

Stiles frowns, but it definitely sounds like something he would do. “Hm …. Sorry.” He says, but he doesn’t really mean it. He felt a wave of disappointment and a little grief hit him in the gut, and takes a steady sip of water.

“It’s fine,” Derek tells him, “I guess that’s living in your 20’s.” He says, with a light laugh.

Stiles clicks his tongue, and his fingers tighten around the glass. “Hey, quick question, did I demand that you stop patronizing me, too?” Stiles snaps. “Because that’d be great.” He added.

Derek doesn’t seem surprised at his outburst, and lets out a small huffing sigh. “I’m not trying to ….” Stiles waits as Derek takes a moment, looking disturbed. “What does it matter, Stiles?” He asks eventually. “If I’d figured out your age the first night we met, we wouldn’t have even started dating.”

“That’s not fair, nothing’s changed since the day before!” Stiles argues. Because he still _wants_ this, he wants to sit in Derek’s apartment, he wants his key back. “Except _your_ attitude.” He muttered.

Derek stands up, and takes the empty glass from him. “You think you can stand, soon?” Derek asks him, “I’ll call you a cab.” He added over his shoulder, walking in the direction of the kitchen.

Stiles makes a face, and waves his phone. “I mean, I could just take an uber, but whatever.” Stiles does stand up, but his legs are immediately besieged by pins-and-needles. “You’re not willing to discuss us, but you want to act as though _I’m_ too immature ….” He mutters.

Derek comes back with a packet of pain-killers and another glass of water. “Stiles, you should be having relationships with other college pups.” Derek advises him, and gestures between the both of them with the packet. “We’re at different points of our lives. I’m looking for a long-term, serious relationship.” He admitted, and had the gall to even look chagrinned.

“And I’m not?” Stiles asks, feeling quite a bit offended at being called a ‘pup’. “I have a career starting, and the only reason I didn’t really bring up my studies is because I didn’t want to bore you.” Stiles points out, quickly dry-swallowing two pills and chugging the water. “ _See_ , I’m considerate.”

“Stiles, I’m just not comfortable with this.” Derek takes the glass again, and Stiles feels his phone buzzing in his hand, _again_. But he didn’t have time to tell Scott he was still alive, and thumbs the phone off again.

But he feels the fight slip out of him, at Derek’s calm rebuttal. It wasn’t fair of him, but it’s not as though Stiles could maturely push the issue while he was this hungover. “… Fine.” He says, but he still felt a longing for closure. “I just … what about my behavior made it seem not-serious?” He asks quietly. His phone started buzzing _yet again_ , which would have ruined the moment if Stiles had been any less focused.

“Nothing, Stiles,” Derek said, looking for a moment tender, before he ducked his head, nodding to the ever-buzzing phone, “you should take that.” He added.

Irritated at the change of topic, Stiles does swipe on his phone and shove it to his ear. “ _Scott_ ,” he snaps, “I’m alive, I made it to – what?” Stiles goes pale, and his tone turns frantic. “What about my dad? Shit! _Shit_ , okay, hang on, I need ….” He glances around wildly and starts blinking rapidly. “Um, hang on ….” Stiles pressed the heel of his palm into his eyes socket and tried to stop his mind from reeling.

“What happened?” Derek asks, his tone concerned, and Stiles wanted to press against his chest and take a few deep breaths to calm down. But they weren’t _together_ , it was just this awful instinctive reaction that his body ached for, but his mind knew he couldn’t do.

“My dad’s in hospital ….” Stiles choked out. “I need a minute, hang on ….” He whispers. His chest hurt, and his head hurt. For a moment, he was gripped with the same paralyzing fear – he couldn’t shake the image of his shriveled, tired mother, lying in the white hospital bed ….

Derek looked intense and solemn. Stiles tried to take a deeper breath in, but choked a little. He could see Derek’s hand twitch. He knew how much Stiles loved and needed his dad, but now … Stiles knew it was just useless, irrelevant information.

“Do you … need help?” Derek asks softly.

Stiles takes a step away, because he needs to, and takes a deep breath for the same reason. “I’ll be just peachy keen.” He mutters, blinking the spots out of his eyes. He had to get back to the house, that was the most important thing right now. He focused his mind solely on it. “So, this was great,” Stiles continued, voice harsh as he mentioned to the couch and Derek and all that he’d just dropped between them, “and I’m leaving.” He walks out the door, and scurries two blocks away to call an uber to take him back home.

Dad looks pissed, laying grumpily in his hospital bed.

“I keep telling them I’m fine!” He snaps, huffing at his son, who was curled into an almost ball in the chair next to the bed.

“Dad!” Stiles said, looking completely exasperated. “Please! You have been seriously injured!” Then, Stiles’ mouth twitches up. “… By a killer seven-year-old.” He bursts into laughter, pressing his forehead to his knees.

“Stiles!” His dad tutted as Stiles blindly grabbed for a piece of paper on the bedside drawer. It was a drawing of two people, one girl in pink and a blobby man in blue. _I’m Sorry Officer Stilinski_ was written on the bottom of the page. “Now you be careful with Emily’s drawing,” his dad cautions him, “… she didn’t mean a thing.” He added benevolently.

“Of course she didn’t, dad,” Stiles agreed, rolling his eyes. Like anyone was going to blame the distraught elementary schooler for crashing into his dad on her first big-girl bike, causing him to fall so hard he cracked a rib. Stiles chuckled again, and his dad said his name scoldingly.

Melissa came in and sat on an armchair. She used the time on her rounds with Officer Stilinski to catch him up on gossip from the nurse’s station. She shook her head at Stiles, still sniggering and admiring the drawing.

“I can’t believe it takes a grievous injury to get our sons home again.” She lamented. Scott had also come down for fun for the weekend; he was getting snacks from the vending machine because Stiles’ never could. As in the goddamn machine had never once, in his life, firstly accepted a dollar from his hand, and, also dropped the snack down. It probably hated him, or he was cursed.

Stiles’ dad was quick to join her. “Tell me about it, Mel. And all he does it give me a hard time.” He continued gruffly.

“I’m really cruel.” Stiles agreed. “Scott and I are heading back up in like two days.” He adds, nodding to Scott as the man comes back into the room.

“Got you a chocolate, mom,” Scott said, dropping a Hershey’s into his mother’s lap, getting a cheery ‘thanks, baby’, before dumping the rest of the junk food onto Stiles’ lap.

“Thanks, man.” Stiles said, scooping it all up and plopping it into the fun sliding dinner tray in front of his dad. His dad, in turn, reached for a bag of chips. “Don’t even!” Stiles snapped, batting his hand away.

He dad bothered to gasp, and shakes out his hand like it stung. “I’m in a hospital bed!” He argues. “One little luxury, for your poor old man.” He continues, picking up a pack of pork rinds. Scott chuckles, sliding down to the floor in front of Stile’s chair and digging into his bag of jellybeans.

Stiles is getting ready to slap again, when Mel reaches over with a grunt and plucks it out of his dad’s hands. “I think your son was very clear the first time.” She said, opening the packet and crunching on one herself.

Only at the strict instructions of a medical doctor, did his dad finally relent. “You keep me honest Mel.” He admits, and Mel nods, flicking on the television and drawing her legs up onto the armchair.

Stiles glances down at phone, potato chips stuffing his cheeks out, when the text from Derek comes in.

_Glad to hear it._

Stiles scowls, rolls his eyes and shoves his phone back into his pocket. All that, a day late, after a simple ‘how’s your father?’. He just felt an obligation.

His dad catches his momentarily-distraught look, and frowns in concern. “Another rejection?” He asks him.

Stiles nods. “Yeah …” he says softly. Then he realizes his dad would never have meant his dating life, and instead thought it was about job opportunities. Stiles shook his head quickly. “I mean, I got a paid internship!” He blurted out. Both Mel and his dad exclaimed in surprised. “Sorry, a company called ‘Karlings’. It’s a contractor, so I’d be called in for anything,” he explained eagerly. “I.T repairs, hopefully coding, probably repairs, mostly.”

His dad nods, reaching over to pet him on the shoulder proudly. “It’s a foot in the door.” He advises, and Stiles sticks on a bright smile.

He spent the rest of his hospital visit trying to sneak around the nurses and have a wheelchair race with some of the scamps in the kid’s ward, and definitely turning his attention to his future in tech security, and not mooning over an asshole who never thought to double-check his birthday.

Stiles was settling into the new job with relative ease. The first three days was mostly orientation, assessing his skillset and practicing some program-specific trail errors. But his bosses told him they were impressed by his abilities, and he’d be shadowing one of their specialists starting from next week.

Malia was fun, required frequent snack breaks, and had demanded Stiles use an app on her phone to find out his complete star chart alignment. He was told very seriously that she had a ‘weakness for water babies’.

So Stiles was in charge of driving, finding a parking spot near the gas station for snacks, and all together not connecting the dots that the streets he was going down looked vaguely familiar. Maybe he could blame the fact that he’d only ever taken public transport there. But now, Stiles realized exactly what parking structure they were in. He even passed a certain sex-mobile on their way to the elevator.

He felt his chest constrict, and sweat began to prickle down his back and the palms of his hands. “Oh god, oh god, oh god ….” He began to mutter to himself. He prayed to whoever was up there – god or his mother – that they would just get in, get out, no … _complications_.

Malia frowns at him in a confused way, and Stiles realized his muttering was not as quiet as he’d hoped. “What?” She grunts, shoving a sour strap into her mouth.

Stiles shrugs, _so_ not willing to get into relationship drama with his mentor. “Oh, um, it’s just really fancy in here,” he waved a hand down towards his knees, “and my socks don’t even match.” He said. Thing was – he usually _did_ dress nicer when he had to come down here, so it wasn’t even a lie.

But Malia only snorts through her nose, cargo pants and an old _DuckTales_ shirt telling Stiles that they were pretty much destined to get along. “These yuppies don’t care about your socks - they care about getting the job done.” She tells him, her flip-flops making slapping sounds against the fancy marble floor.

Surprisingly enough, she didn’t net any side-eyes or upturned noses from the suity-people they passed, so Stiles had a suspicion this might be a regular site for her. “Don’t they have in-house I.T?” He says, trying to keep the whine from his voice. But he was jumpy now, completely dreading every turned corner lest they run into … someone he knew.

But Malia shrugs. “Not for our software.” She replies, tapping the side of her nose and giving him a wink. “Don’t give away secrets.”

Stiles felt immediate relief when Malia pointed to a door down a hall that said ‘SERVERS – AUTHORISED PERSONEL ONLY’ and headed towards it. Of course – that’s when the door they just passed by opened, and a familiar head of blonde hair came out. There was a gasp, and Stiles ground to a reluctant stop.

“… Erica.” He utters, eyeing the surprised woman who had stopped in her track to blink at him.

“Hey, Stiles,” she says shaking her head slightly and stepping up to him. “I heard … actually, I pointed out …” there was no small amount of regret in her voice, as she sighs lightly. “Sorry.” Then Derek stepped out from behind her, looking slightly irritated, as though he hadn’t realized why Erica had stopped – as soon as he looked at Stiles, his eyebrows went up and his mouth went down.

Stiles looked at the pathetic picture she was making, while still maintaining her professionalism at work, and glanced at where Malia waited with overtly curious eyes. “It’s fine, apparently there was no stopping it.” He says quickly, knowing he had something a little bigger to face. He looked Derek in the eyes. “Hello.” One word, and Stiles already felt exhausted.

Derek looks at Malia, and back at him. “Stiles, what are you doing here?” He asks. His tone isn’t naturally neutral, and Stiles _knows_ he probably doesn’t meant to sound as angry as he did.

“Repairs,” he replies, flicking a hand at the server rooms, just out of the reach, “my new internship.”

Derek’s eyes flew open, and he quickly ducks his head. “Right, _right_ ,” he says it like a quiet curse, and flicks his eyes to Stiles again. “I meant to mention we used their …” he trails off, and coughs into his hand once. The display of obvious nerves vindicated Stiles a little – he wasn’t the only one dying from the awkwardness. “Well you know.” He grunted, already stepping away from them. “Have a good day.” He adds over his shoulder.

“Sure.” Stiles says as Erica gives him a little wave as they both leave. It’s a hasty retreat, but Stiles can’t really enjoy it. There was still a part of him that _didn’t_ want to see Derek running away from him.

Stiles lets out a small sigh, before turning to where Malia stood _much_ closer to him than before, making him cry out a little and jolt back. “You know them?” She asks eagerly, a smile playing on her face.

Stiles shrugs one shoulder. “Not really.”


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles was mopey but attentive as Malia instructed him on the ins and outs of the program. Sitting in between rows of servers, the air-con on full blast, hunched over her sticker-covered laptop - Stiles had a lot of time to think over some life choices.

Despite Stiles' impressive ability to multi-task, Malia still managed to catch him slipping as he stared off into the middle distance.

" _Hello?_ " She called, snapping her fingers in his face. "Earth to Stilinski?" She asks pointedly.

Stiles blinks rapidly and flashes her a befuddled grin. "Do you have a thing for older men?" He blurted out.

Malia's disinterested gaze flicked downward. "You're younger than me." She pointed out.

Stiles shook his head quickly. "No! Because I do!" He said quickly, his nerved over seeing his ex again ramping up his already-existing nerves over his still-new job. "Or - I guess I do, I mean," Stiles paused to think about it for a moment, "it's not _because_ he was older, he just was older - and _so_ beautiful - and like, organised." He continues earnestly, to Malia's wide and surprised expression. "He makes copies of his receipts, like for his taxes? I bet he's gonna claim my headphones on his taxes ...." Stiles huffs out a sigh, and realises he just venting to his sort-of boss and that she was looking at him like he's grown two heads.

She closes her eyes, and the lid of her laptop at the same time. "Okay ...." she said calmly, and then swivelled her head to stare straight at Stiles with a wide grin. "Tell me everything."

"He said _I'm_ immature!" Stiles continues, flailing his arms around and spitting out a quick apology when he hits the metal side of a server, which doesn't respond. " _Me_ , and I never even wore sweatpants around him! Because I didn't want him to think I was a slob - he wore sweatpants plenty of times! And they still make his butt look _fantastic_!" Stiles concludes, begrudgingly unable to lie and pretend Derek had a sad, flat ass.

Malia had been a very attentive listener, nodding wisely as Stiles ranted. "I see ..." she hummed aloud, tapping her chin for added effect, before slowly nodding, "date his co-worker." She said.

Stiles flinched, and frowned in distaste. "I don't think ... I want to." Stiles had been in the lobby plenty of times, and the people Derek would wave and say a quick good-bye to were not ... at all interesting, to put it one way.

Malia grunted. "Date his dad."

"Oof - he's passed away." Stiles muttered.

"Older brother?" She shot back.

Stiles shook his head, wondering in the back of his mind about this family-thing she was going down. "Doesn't have one."

"Best friend?"

Stiles points in opposite directions and then meets his pointer fingers in the middle. "They're dating each other."

"Three-way."

Stiles' heart sank at all the terrible, no-good ideas. "This isn't going in a direction that I like." He admits sadly.

Malia snapped her fingers, and flipped up her laptop screen again, turning her attention towards it instead of their demented, failed brain-storming session. "We can key his car on the way out?" She suggests lightly.

Stiles gasps. " _No_ , that would be _sacrilege_." He insists, actually feeling his pits start to sweat at the idea of anything harming that gorgeous machine.

Malia snorts out a laugh. "I don't think a Catholic would say that." She says, tapping the front of her laptop, where a sticker of St Agatha was plastered in the middle, and something that Stiles had immediately recognised and pointed out to Malia at their first meeting - turns out she hadn't known herself, she just liked tits.

Stiles pressed a hand against his heart. "How dare you - I am a genuine lapsed Polish Catholic, born and baptised." He muttered,but settled next to her as she went on to explain the next part of the trouble-shooting lesson they had been up to.  
He felt so much better being able to talk to about it though - he had been too embarrassed to tell Scott, yet, what with his lovey-dovey vibes choking up their shared living space. Obviously, Scott had noticed by now something was up - but Stiles had managed to blame it on new-job jitters and his descent into capitalism. The excuse wouldn't hold out forever, but somehow, telling Scott would make it too real, and he refused to break down crying about it.

They were making their way out of the office - it had taken a bit longer than expected, and they had shown up in the very late afternoon. Now, it was past 5, and Stiles was relieved that everyone would have cleared out by now.

They had reached the door to the parking garage as "Stiles - wait!"

Except - it seemed - the new (and youngest ever) accounting head.

Malia's face radiated 'yikes', her mouth pulled flat and down on both directions, baring her lower row of teeth. But Stiles only shrugs slightly as he obligingly stopped, but refused to dwell on the hope rising in his chest.

He turns as Derek jogs up to them. Immediately, Stiles notices a few things - his hair is flatter than usual at the top, while the sides stick out strangely. Stiles knew from a very dangerous game of monopoly that meant Derek had repeatedly run his hands through his hair and ruined his careful morning styling. He also had his jacket on only by one arm, while the other he attempted to shrug into now. "Hey - um, I was hoping to catch you as I left, too ..." he explains breathlessly, while finally pulling on his jacket, "the-the headphones ... do you like them?" He asks hurriedly.

Stiles felt a flicker of hurt at Derek bringing those up right now. "Sure," Stiles says drily; thinking about the unopened box that he stuffed into the back of closet, "they really give an all-surround sound of my favourite song - the teletubbies theme." He adds, and then frowns. "Why? Did you want them back?"

Derek quickly shook his head. "No, no ..." he glances at Malia, and then clears his throat, coughing into his fist and taking a step back. "I won't keep you. Have a good night." He says, rising a hand in a weird wave, as though he was asking for a hi-5 as he holds it for a second too long, which was very much not like him.

"You too." Stiles tells him as he turned around and starting walking again with Malia in tow. Stiles could't hear the click of pricy loafers on the marble, and muttered to Malia, as quietly as he was able; "Please, _please_ , tell me he's still watching."

Malia huffs out a laugh, and starts swinging her hips. "Strut, boy - all eyes on you." She hisses back gleefully.

Stiles doesn't let himself strut, but he definitely walks with the confidence of a man with a growing suspicion that loosing him could be someone's regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, despite the fact that all I got were complaints.


	3. Chapter 3

The next week involves Stiles learning the ropes of his new internship, and loving every second of it. It also involves him being too wrapped up in said internship to realise he had an assignment for one of his classes due at the end of that week.

Then, he was preoccupied with a scrabble to throw together something that'll at least get him a pass, and between the late-nights and late-mornings ... he hadn't taken any time to update his bestie and roommate about the Derek situation. Or, the messy resolution of the situation. Because he wouldn't have time for the massive heart-to-heart Scott would require from him, and the emotional hang-over that would inevitability follow.

Malia seconded his decision. "It's the earth signs - too practical."

Stiles knew telling Scott made it _official_ , made it real-real, and he didn't know if he was ready for that.

Which means that after his last stint in the library, to proof-read and submit his project - with a whopping 3 hours to spare! - he scrabbled into his room like a man possessed, possessed by the need to sleep, and throws himself onto his bed with a pleased sigh. And certainly didn't notice his best friend sitting on the bed opposite, in full puppy-dog pout form. Not until Stiles cracked an eye open, and saw the chocolate brown eyes staring balefully at him.

"... What?" He grunted out.

"Derek stopped by." At Scott's words, Stiles sits straight up, tossing aside his own pillow. It _flumps_ to the floor. "To give you your stuff." Scott was sitting in front of one of those brown-and-white office boxes, the lid still firmly on it. Of course Derek would choose a box with a _lid_.

Stiles glares at the box, and leans over his bed to gropes for his pillow back. "Is there any chance we can put this off until tomorrow?" He asks, pulling the pillow onto his lap.

"Yeah, yeah!" Scott says, waving one hand in a way that Stiles knew wasn't casual. "We'll just put it off until tomorrow, or the next day - and then _never_ talk about it!" Scott snaps, smacking the lid of the box in indignation. "Stiles! You broke up? Why didn't you tell me?" He demands, with nothing but worry and concern written all over his face.

Stiles grimaces, face-plants into his mattress again. "Scott ...." He groans.

But while Stiles was the chatterbox, Scott wasn't exactly the quiet type either. "It's because of Alison, isn't it?" He continues, shifting into what Stiles knew very well as 'rant mode'. "Because I was just throwing our love in your face! Like we're so perfect!" Scott's bitter tone made Stiles peel his face from the bed sheet, and squint at him. "Well, everything is _not_ perfect - and you wouldn't know! Because we don't talk anymore." Scott concludes, folding his arms over his chest and nodding firmly. He looks so sincerely unhappy, and Stiles can't shake the nagging feeling that they'd done this before.

"Scott, is this like when I pledged before you did and you thought we were going to start going our separate ways in college?" He asks, thinking back to when they were nervous little freshies. "Because we really didn't - you literally sleep right next to me." He adds, pointing at the bed Scott was still sitting on.

Scott's frown deepens. "So how come I didn't know about you and Derek?" He asks back.

"Because it might not be permanent!" Stiles sits up properly, looking earnestly at his best friend. "I mean, he definitely has hang-ups about the age thing, but he fell for me before he knew any of that, and I haven't changed." Stiles reasons, getting up and sitting on the other side of the box.

Scott meets his gaze with doubt written all over his face. "But shouldn't you respect his wishes?" He tries.

"Scott I barely respect the law and my dad's a cop." Stiles reminds him.

"I thought that was _why_ you didn't respect it."

"Maybe - look," Stiles waves a hand in Scott's face, which the other man slaps away irritably. "I'm not going to annoy him into dating me again, _he_ needs to apologise to _me_ first! But I would be willing to take him back." Stiles explains."Until I get a permanent marker, concrete N-O, I didn't think it was worth discussing."

"Stiles, I think this is your permanent marker concrete no," Scott says, and when Stiles shakes his head, Scott flips the lid of the box off, and starts digging around, pulling out each item as he says; "two hoodies, a textbook, a fountain pen - hey this is _my_ hoodie!" Scott stares at the fabric in confusion, and then scowls as Stiles gasps. "What the hell, man? I thought the washing machine ate it!" He snaps.

but Stiles hadn't gasped over the hoodie. "Fountain pen?" He asks, snatching up the silver pen and brandishing it. "Scott why would _I_ own a fountain pen?" He asks seriously.

Scott shrugs, inspecting his reclaimed hoodie. "Same reason you tried to take up smoking cigars?" He suggests idly. Scott really couldn't keep a grudge.

"I thought it would look cool!" Stiles argues, scowling as he remembers the godawful taste, "I didn't know they just make you _throw up_!"

Scott hums in disagreement. "I don't think they're _supposed_ to ...." But Stiles ignored him, staring down at the pen he held. Shiny, with 'Triskelion' printed on the side. Stiles feels a zing go through his heart.

"... Oh my god, Scott, do you know what this is?" He asks, eyes wide as he grins at the guy. "This is a sign - a get-back-together sign!"

At Stiles' declaration, Scott glances between his excited face and the pen. "No ... I think he might have just dropped his pen in there." Scott says in a deflated tone, going back to inspecting his hoodie.

But Stiles snorts, undeterred. " _Please_ , this kind of fancy thing?" Stiles waves the pen under Scott's nose, who jerks his head back and glances back up at him. "It's got his company _name_ on it, man." Stiles pointed out - since that was the last place they'd seen each other, Stiles felt like it was fate. It was all lining up so neatly! "This is my chance."

Scott just tosses his hoodie onto his own pillows behind his shoulder, and glances down at the empty box still between them. "You stole my hoodie, I want this box," he says, grabbing it and fitting the lid back on with satisfaction.

But Stiles was already getting to his feet, trying to grab his wallet and shove his shoes on at the same time. He was mostly successful. "Scott - I'm serious!" Stiles stumbles, grabbing up his phone and waving it in the air as he lunges for the door. Blurting out; "I'm going over there wishmeluck!"

"Luck!" Scott voice doesn't echo as Stiles slams the door as he bolts out of the house.

Stiles bolted down to the bus stop, practically bouncing on his toes waiting for the one that went along Derek's street. He quickly glanced at his watch, and then at the yellowed, dingy timetable on the numbered sign pole. The next bus wouldn't be for another ten minutes.

Stiles sat on the peeling bench for a second, before jumping back up as the rumble of a bus started around the corner, revealing a bus that wasn't the one he was waiting for. He sat back down, but the excitement of the secret pen buzzed under his skin. Derek _wanted_ him again - and he could have his key back, and those blue, patient eyes .... Stiles stares at his shoes, still trapped under his own heels when he stomped onto them out the door.

A secret pen? Did that sound like Derek?

Stiles reaches down and tugs the heel of his shoes properly onto his bare feet. The excitement churned into nerves in his stomach.

Maybe Scott was right, maybe Stiles _was_ reading too much into this.

Stiles shook his head, taking a deep breath and gripping the pen again.

He bites his lip as another moment passes, with the pressing concern that he was being really stupid.

Stiles sat, staring down the street, and he doesn't move. Because moving meant acknowledging that Derek was saying a real good-bye, and he'd have to mourn the best relationship he's ever been in. The only one, actually.

Stiles was _weird_ , he knew it. Throughout school that weird was a constant personal battle of 'is it autism? Is it ADHD? Is it the messy business of coming to terms with not being straight?'. Which took up a lot of his time. Certainly not leaving him enough time for dating. Or socialising, with anyone who wasn't Scott. A comfortably unattainable crush on the Most Popular Girl In School took up some of that time, and then actually learning about who she was as a person took up most of senior year. Then it was time for college, and Stiles thought, _Finally_ , him too - he got to date, and join a frat, and actually _live_.

Stiles smacks his dry lips, anything to ignore the burning sensation that spreads across the bridge of his nose. He pulls in another deep breath. He looks at the bus-less street. "I should go back ..." he says shakily to himself. It's not as though being the loser was ever new to him. "Need to find out what's with Scott and Alison, probably ...."

Swallowing around the lump on his throat, he stands up, and then looks up as a bus comes screeching to a jerky halt. The doors open, the driver gives him a quick glance, and then Stiles is stepping onto the bus, tapping his pass against the sensor and finding a seat as it rumbles off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks every one for the comments! I did not specify what bus Stiles is on, have fun with that until next time.

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the numerous times my friends date men in their 30's and I'm like ... why is he babysitting?


End file.
